


break you like a toy

by fe3hluvr



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fantasizing, Imagined Threesome, Linhardt just wants to go back to sleep though, Masturbation, Multi, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), imagined rimming, imagined spitroasting, implied dimilix tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26229664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fe3hluvr/pseuds/fe3hluvr
Summary: Linhardt wanted more than anything to study him. He would stand Dimitri in front of him, have him lift progressively heavier things, while Linhardt questioned him about the effects on his body. Have himbreakprogressively larger things, the way he’d seen Dimitri break weapons as if it were child's play during the mock battle, his crest activating like a beacon.(aka Linhardt sleepily fantasizes about the two highest ranking Blue Lions students and their outlandishly strong crest capabilities.)
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Kudos: 12





	break you like a toy

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be for wank week, but I, like Linhardt, got lazy and interested in other things.

Linhardt awoke from sleep to the sound of a loud crash and a cry of shock outside his door. 

He rolled over to face the window and tried to gauge the time of day by the light spilling over the floor. Still early. Someone else would see to the noise, no doubt. 

The first crash was subsequently followed by two, no, three more crashes in quick succession, and then a sound of dismay. 

Linhardt lay still for another full minute. He could hear muffled conversation now. Unfortunately, it was enough to pull him from drowsiness. His curiosity getting the better of him, Linhardt shuffled to the door and slid it open an inch.

He did not expect to see the crown prince of Faerghus hunched over the remains of four large flower pots, which blended in a pile of ceramic and dirt in a heap on the path leading from the dorms to the greenhouse. Looks like he didn’t quite make it to his destination.

Someone else squeaked anxiously nearby, perhaps Bernadetta, and Dimitri uttered a polite apology, doing his best to sweep up the contents into the largest of the unbroken pieces. Linhardt, out of sight, noted sleepily that the prince wasn’t wearing his cape or outer uniform shirt, and what he was wearing was hastily being coated in more dirt than was acceptable for a person of royalty. 

Another voice chimed in, this one bitter: “Must you treat every object as a weapon, boar?”

Ah, this would be Felix then. Sure enough, the other Faerghan noble—and the only student with a major crest, Linhardt remembered—strode into view. Dimitri stiffened, then sighed. Whatever he responded, Linhardt didn’t catch. He did see Dimitri squat down and collect more broken pieces. Abandoning the dirt, he took the towering pile of pot shards, no small weight, and stood as smoothly as if he were getting out of bed after a fresh night’s sleep. Linhardt raised an eyebrow. He’d forgotten how strong the prince was said to be. 

With a yawn, Linhardt shut the door and stumbled back into bed. The situation seemed under control now. He could resume his rest for the remaining few hours before Caspar was bound to show up and drag him to class.

But sleep didn’t return as easily as he’d hoped it would. For some reason, the prince and future duke kept wandering in and out of his mind. He didn’t care at all what kind of history festered between them—Faerghus politics bored him even more than Adrestian ones did—but the fact remained that Dimitri and Felix were two of the strongest students at the academy, and their crests played a significant role in that strength. 

Linhardt flopped onto his stomach, recalling the time he’d sat in the training yard waiting for Caspar and witnessed a sparring match between Dimitri and Felix without meaning to. He’d tried to ascertain what aspects of their fighting styles were influenced by their crest powers, watching dispassionately for signs of brute strength or might that he’d read about in the crestology books. 

In the end, they fought more like agitated boys than heirs to the highest positions in the kingdom. Someone ought to do something about the tension between them, he’d thought. There would be little hope of Linhardt ever getting the chance to examine either of them properly at this rate.

A shame, really. Dimitri in particular was so strong, he could probably carry all of Linhardt’s amassed collection of books plus Linhardt himself up to the library. There must be consequences to such strength, little ticks that set it off. Things that ordinary soldiers would not experience even with the most regimented training. 

Linhardt adjusted his hips to find a more comfortable setting, and ah—there it was, the telltale flow of blood to his cock, reacting to the pressure against the mattress. Some mornings it was inevitable.

Although, a quick tug under the blankets _would_ rid him of whatever distracting thoughts he had. A minute or two of work and he would feel even more weightless, would drift longingly back to sleep.

He rolled his hips slowly, languidly against the bed. That’s it. No need to rush the familiar.

His mind wandered back to Dimitri again. Had his strength training over the years built broad, shapely muscles under that uniform? Or would they be bulkier in certain places?

Linhardt wanted more than anything to study him. He would stand Dimitri in front of him, have him lift progressively heavier things, while Linhardt questioned him about the effects on his body. Have him _break_ progressively larger things, the way he’d seen Dimitri break weapons as if it were child's play during the mock battle, his crest activating like a beacon. 

Would he hold his concentration well, while performing these feats of strength? Linhardt wanted to kneel at Dimitri’s feet, to tease his cock to fullness with his hands through his trousers and hear how it might affect Dimitri’s breathing. To lick stripes up and down Dimitri’s length—it had to be large, his cock, based purely on the size of his hands alone—before taking the head into his mouth, noting all of the subtle changes in Dimitri’s body throughout. 

Still rutting gently, Linhardt let his mouth fall open, feeling his throat tighten at the thought. He pulled one hand out from under his pillow and inserted two fingers into his mouth. He sucked lazily on them, allowed the movement in and out to match the increasing speed of his hips. 

If Linhardt were to moan into Dimitri’s cock, would the vibrations trigger a response? Perhaps whatever weapon or item he’d be holding would splinter in his grip, in proportion to Linhardt’s lips sucking tight around the soft pink head. Linhardt would try different combinations, different ministrations of licking and sucking and twisting his hand at the base (would Dimitri’s dense body hair be as gold as the locks on his head? A shade darker, Linhardt surmised) in order to prompt different reactions from Dimitri, to have him break larger and more durable items over Linhardt’s shoulders. 

The rutting motion into his mattress was proving less than effective in light of these musings, as was the angle of his hand in his mouth. Linhardt crawled forward a few inches, spreading his knees apart. He shoved the pillow down between his legs and pulled his own cock free from his sleep pants, pressing it into the cool side of the linen and sighing in relief at the greater freedom of movement. 

The fingers he slid back into his mouth, three this time. His other arm dragged the nearest object into reach—two textbooks, he didn’t bother to see which—to provide a rest for his quickly warming forehead. 

With each thrust forward, Linhardt circled his tongue around his fingers. They couldn’t quite reach the back of his throat, the way a heavy cock would. Or at least, this was what he imagined. His research in this area had yet to reach the testing stage. (Too bothersome to find willing but disinterested candidates.)

But he loved the pressure on his tongue, the way his lips stretched over his knuckles, how wet and warm the soft flesh of his mouth felt against his skin. 

He would want the prince to come in his mouth, he thought, or perhaps Linhardt would collect the semen into a vial, to measure the amount and the viscosity. Mm, but no—he liked the idea of swallowing too much. He wanted to pump Dimitri dry into the back of his throat, as many times in a row as he could manage, while he watched the muscles of his broad chest and long arms tense and flex above him.

With a hiss, Linhardt pulled his lips back to the second knuckle and bit himself lightly—ah, but how might Dimitri react to his teeth? Would he fuck into Linhardt’s mouth harder? Drop his arms and shove Linhardt’s chin deep into the cleft between his cock and balls? Linhardt groaned at the possibilities. 

When and if Dimitri were to pass Linhardt’s repeated examinations with ease, there would be the matter of increasing the difficulty. Another idea struck him then, a variable he could exploit: let someone else test the prince’s stamina simultaneously. The Fraldarius heir would be a good option, he reasoned. Felix already taunted Dimitri enough; let him do so in a more useful way for once. 

Felix might not be willing to touch Dimitri directly, not yet. But Linhardt could act as a neutral third party, for cases of experimentation. What might it be like if he were to splay himself on hands and knees, not dissimilarly to his current position, and let Felix use his ass while Linhardt continued to service Dimitri?

He’d always been curious about the potential feel of a soft mouth against his hole. With a wet pop, Linhardt pulled his fingers from his mouth. He reached back, using his other hand to tug his pants a few inches further and pry apart his cheeks while he dragged his saliva-coated fingertips along the ridge of muscle. It puckered at the warm wetness, and his breath hitched. 

Still circling his fingers, slowing the movement of his hips, Linhardt thought about lips, the plumpness of them, brushing his hole. The flick of a tongue inside him. The face of challenge Felix might make from between Linhardt’s buttocks, staring at Dimitri. Dimitri’s groan in response as they both thrust inward and compress Linhardt between their naked bodies.

He might even let Felix fuck him, Linhardt supposes, if he teased him enough, though most days he prefered to imagine himself on the other side of the equation. It would be fascinating to see how one with Felix’s speed might move when given a gaping hole—thrusting with abandon, fucking Linhardt deep into the mattress, pushing him further onto Dimitri’s fat cock until he chokes and Dimitri paints his throat with come. 

His own cock throbbed as he moved against the sheets. One fingertip slipped past his hole, sinking deeper as Linhardt rocked. He was panting quite heavily now. This was somewhat more intense than his usual rounds. 

Hm. Linhardt knew his inexperience would do him little good in this imaginary case. His endurance was not likely to match that of two others with more energy and better physical training, not to mention the enhancements of their crests. And the two of them would spur each other on, no doubt. Would their crest-enhanced strength prolong arousal? 

His erection flagged slightly at the thought of such enormous effort. This wouldn’t do. He dismissed the thought of proper experimentation, returning instead to the sight from earlier, of Dimitri lifting the broken pots as if they weighed nothing. 

Maybe Linhardt could convince him to put his hands around Linhardt’s cock. How hard could Dimitri squeeze him, without bursting? He must touch _himself_ without injury, but how would Linhardt’s limits compare?

Linhardt brought the hand not in his hole around to his front, stroking gently over his slit and wrapping around the head as he fucked himself through the opening. He pushed another finger inside himself. His mouth, completely dry at this point, gaped at the burn, gasping as he clenched and stretched around himself. 

He kept thrusting, kept slowly prodding his fingers back and forth, knuckle to knuckle, curling them helplessly. It wouldn’t be long now. Linhardt licked at the sweat beading on his upper lip. How good might this feel if Felix were the one fucking him, if Dimitri held him up with his body while clamping his large hands around Linhardt’s cock, squeezing and twisting until just before he would break?

Warmth pooled into his hand as Linhardt finally came. He let his other hand slide out of his hole and come around to grip the base of his cock as he rode out his climax. He had to admit it was more satisfying than he anticipated it would be, though he sighed in disapproval at the sweat on his brow, and the line from where he’d pressed his head into the books. 

Nothing as satisfying as the promise of more sleep, however. He tucked himself back into his pants and slumped forward, not even bothering to move his pillow. His body was fluid, his mind blissfully empty. 

Within minutes, he drifted back into glorious, dreamless sleep. This time, not even the fires of hell would bring him out of it.

  
  



End file.
